


All That I'm Asking For (Is You)

by TheFifthCharmedOne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Canon Divergence - Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Former!Alcoholic Harry Potter, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Draco Malfoy, Hermione Has PCOS, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Polycystic ovarian syndrome, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Professor Harry Potter, Resolved Sexual Tension, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Sober Harry Potter, Song: All That I'm Asking For by Lifehouse, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Swearing, Top Harry Potter, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25183105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFifthCharmedOne/pseuds/TheFifthCharmedOne
Summary: "Well, this is just a spectacular mess, isn't it?"When a witch or wizard turns twenty-one, a mark appears on their wrist to indicate their soulmate. Instead of names, though, it's the respective witch or wizard's Patronus form, which in turn creates a scavenger hunt of sorts. Inspired by a Drarry cosplay on TikTok!
Relationships: Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley, Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini, some Harry/Ginny in the beginning, some Ron/Hermione in the beginning
Comments: 12
Kudos: 104





	1. "I Can See Right Through You"

July 15, 2001

Rain splattered the cobblestone path of Diagon Alley, causing Draco to hunch his shoulders inward even more and pull his hood tighter. It wasn't even the pleasant sort of rain that was cool and refreshing, it had the nerve to be a hot summer rain. Draco supposed that was to be expected in mid-July, but that knowledge didn't make it less of an inconvenience.

A frown graced his features as he entered the eating establishment that Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott had opened after the War. Its name was officially The Palace with the slogan of 'where you're treated like royalty' but the regulars called it Blaise and Theo's Place. Draco had every confidence that Blaise had come up with the name and convinced Theo to go with it by ways of sexual favors, however, in spite of its opulent name, it had a cozy feeling that reminded Draco of the Manor before the Dark Lord had taken over. 

"Draco!" Theo greeted from the bar where he was drying a whiskey decanter by hand. That was another shock - as punishment for his father's role in the War, Theo had been sentenced to live as a Muggle for a year with Blaise as his supervisor. (Undoubtedly because of Mrs. Zabini's significant donation to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement) It appeared that certain habits were difficult to break. He wore a cleanly pressed white shirt and a black vest, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. A well-fitted pair of pants hugged the other boy's arse. Draco smiled without showing his teeth, which caused Theo to frown. "Pansy's in the corner," he said, and Draco nodded politely. Was it unfair to treat Theo like a stranger? Perhaps, but Draco was in a ghastly mood and the other boy would forgive him once he learned the truth.

"What in the world could have caused this emergency meeting?" he demanded irritably.

"Don't talk to me like that." Pansy snapped, and Draco sighed, sitting down across from his friend. "It's about my soulmate." The skin of Draco's wrist began to itch and he scratched it absently. "It's..." she swallowed hard as if saying the name caused her pain. "Ron Weasley," she said so softly that Draco strained to hear her. She lifted her arm to show him the mark. Sure enough, the Fates had carved the shape of a Jack Russel Terrier into her arm, the lines of its face worked into her veins. 

The itch in Draco's arm intensified and he grimaced, thoughts of his soulmate making him uncomfortable and aroused at the same time. He leaned back and looked Pansy up and down, taking in her disheveled appearance for the first time. Glassy eyes, unwashed black hair and makeup absent. She wore a pencil skirt and a ruffled blouse, and Draco couldn't recall a time that she'd looked anything less than perfect. Silence fell between them, and Draco finally gave in. He revealed the stag on his wrist, and Pansy gasped. 

"Potter?" she asked. Draco nodded miserably. "Fuck. The Fates must have a vendetta against you or something."

"Well, I never would have expected you to be mated to a Weasley," he spoke finally and Pansy glared at him, and self-consciously covering her wrist with her opposite hand. "Obviously, you know that Weasley and Granger are engaged, and the Prophet is like a dog in heat waiting for a Potter to pop the question to the Weaslette." Pansy clenched her jaw and nodded.

"What are we going to do, Draco?" asked Pansy, the weakness in her tone completely out of character. For the first time since before the Dark Lord's defeat, she sounded like the girl he'd known when they were teenagers and figuring out their sexualities. Something in his chest twisted at the memory of their innocence.

"We're taking these marks to our graves. Let Weasley marry Granger, and Potter marry the Weaslette. Everyone's happy."

"Not exactly." Draco turned and raised an eyebrow at one-half of the Weasley twins. Fred held up his arm, showing the otter that indicated he was Hermione's soulmate. "Hermione has my Patronus, a hyena, and Ron-" Pansy stiffened. "Ron has a snake. That's your Patronus, I'm guessing?" he directed the latter question to Pansy, who nodded mutely.

"Well, this is just a spectacular mess, isn't it?"

* * *

July 31, 2001

“You’re just going to be insufferable today, aren’t you?” Draco demanded of his arm, which continued its buzzing as it recognized that it was Potter’s 21st birthday. The pins-and-needles feeling had woken him from a sound sleep so he was a little grumpy. 

The last two weeks had been split between his duties as a Healer-in-Training, consoling Pansy over the way Fate had screwed them over yet again and avoiding Potter at absolutely all costs.

Not that they ran into each other with great frequency, but Draco ensured that they never saw each other. Potter spent the majority of his time at Hogwarts since he was now the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and Head of Gryffindor House. However, just because Draco didn’t see him in person, that didn’t mean he stopped thinking about him. 

He sat at his small dining room table, sipping his morning tea as rain drizzled outside his window. Idly, in between mouthfuls, he traced his finger over one of the stag’s horns, which had curved delicately into a curl on his palm.

_Tap, tap. ___

__Draco turned to his window where his owl, Icarus, hooted impatiently with the Quibbler magazine curled into his talons. Draco opened the window and Icarus dropped the magazine in front of Draco with a wet slap. Rain water splashed Draco’s sleep shirt and he scowled at his owl, who had glided up to the top of a bookcase. He cast a Drying Charm on his shirt and the magazine, and when he did, he got a good look at the cover story._ _

__Exclusive: Quibbler Editor in Chief Luna Lovegood Interviews Harry Potter!_ _

__Draco’s heart lurched toward the moving photo on the magazine’s front page. Potter was laughing, his head thrown back and exposing his slightly tanned, tantalizing and elegant neck. Draco longed to drag his tongue up that beautiful throat, bury his nose in Potter’s hair, embracing the scent of his shampoo… He shook his arm in annoyance – the buzzing was absolutely relentless, especially when his thoughts ventured into that territory. Since his June birthday, it had made his yanking sessions…interesting, to say the least._ _

__Draco narrowed his eyes – of _course, _Potter couldn’t be hideous, that would be too easy – no, he had to be one of the most handsome young men Draco had ever laid his eyes on. Shaggy, unkempt hair and large circular glasses around bright green eyes, coupled by perfectly golden skin, the only visible mark his telltale scar from the Dark Lord’s first fall.___ _

____Apparently, Draco was a masochist, because he flipped directly to the cover story, which had a full-page spread of Luna and Harry conversing jovially. Luna wore a patchwork dress, likely of her own making, her wand balancing precariously behind her ear. White-blond hair that nearly matched Draco’s was piled on top of her head in a bun, with curls delicately framing her face._ _ _ _

____Potter had perfected the art of looking perpetually messy without being dirty. His black jeans had medium-sized holes at the knees, muddy trainers, and an unbuttoned purple plaid shirt. To Draco’s dismay, Potter wore a gray t-shirt under the plaid, which of course sent his mind back to its lusty ways._ _ _ _

“Enough of that.” he reprimanded himself. Icarus hooted from his perch, and Draco closed the magazine with a huff.

* * *

“SURPRISE!”

Harry laughed as his closest friends and family jumped out from behind the Burrow’s furniture. Ron was a hysterically bad liar, and Harry had suspected that he and Hermione were planning something for his 21st, but he was still touched nevertheless. When you’d grown up believing you were a nuisance and a freak, knowing that you were loved was a powerful thing.

Harry chose to ignore the lonely pang of his heart when his gaze settled on Ginny. They’d broken up quietly a few months ago and Ginny was seeing Dean Thomas once again. He was happy for them, but there was a point in his life that he’d wanted to marry Ginny. He resolved that he was allowed to be upset that their relationship hadn’t worked out.

“Don’t look so glum, mate! It’s your birthday!” Ron cajoled, shoving a glass of sparkling water into Harry’s hand. Harry smiled for Ron’s benefit, scratched at his wrist, and took a long drink of the bubbly, alcohol-free drink. 

A while later, Molly and Arthur had gone to bed while ‘the kids’ stayed awake, all (except Harry) pleasantly drunk to a certain degree. 

“Ooh, Harry! Your soulmate mark should be there now!” Hermione hiccupped and giggled, and Fred watched her adoringly. Harry inhaled and looked down at his arm, where the shape of a bird feather had appeared, carved into his skin as if it had always been there.

“A feather?” he thought aloud, and Hermione clambered across the room, grabbing his arm and lifting it toward the light so she could see it better.

“Not just a feather, that’s a…that’s a peacock feather. I’d have to double-check but…I think it’s an albino peacock feather.” The purebloods gathered around gasped, and Harry stared at them in confusion, the sparkling water turning to lead in his stomach. He’d learned by now that when his friends gasped collectively, it couldn’t be good.

“There’s only one family that has albino peacocks,” Ron spoke up, his voice a bit slurred. “The Malfoys.”

* * *

Draco’s plan to completely avoid Potter had been going swimmingly until the prat started up his sixth-year shenanigans again. Running for his life during their seventh year had made his stalking slightly less clumsy, but Draco was at his wit’s end.

“Potter, I know you’re there.” After a few days of feeling eyes on him and burning pain in his arm, he’d decided that enough was enough. Draco had led Potter into a small alley between Diagon and Knockturn, hoping for a modicum of privacy. 

He turned around and didn’t see anyone at first. His brow furrowed as he surveyed the space; there were no items that Potter could be hiding behind, so where was he? Had Draco been wrong? Had Potter not been following him for days on end? Then why would his arm have been burning so intensely?

“Behind you.” Potter’s lips brushed against the shell of his ear, sending goosebumps over Draco’s entire body. He turned around once more and found Potter smirking at him, leaned against the wall. “Hey, Malfoy.” Harry’s gaze dragged over Draco’s form, causing a mix of nervousness and desire to skitter through him like a startled deer.

Deer. Stag. Damn it.

“Hello, Potter.”

“What’s with the formal greeting?” Potter inquired. “We _are _soulmates after all.”__

__“The last time we saw each other-“ Harry closed the gap between them in two strides, pressing his finger to Draco’s lips._ _

____

__

“Was in the past. I don’t know about you, but I’m much more interested in living in the present.” Draco wasn’t sure what made him do it, but before he could think, he had the tip of his wand pressed to Potter’s chin. 

“Keep your filthy half-blood hands off of me.” he ground out, the slur appearing from somewhere in his muscle memory. “Just because some archaic spell decided we’re destined to be together doesn’t mean you get to follow me around, to touch me whenever and wherever you please, or just assume that I’m going to fall at your feet like the rest of your simpering fangirls. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from me.” The stag on his arm burned even hotter once Draco had made his declaration. He whirled on his heel, headed back toward the crowds of Diagon. 

“What if I don’t know what’s good for me?” 

“What?” 

“I said: what if I don’t know what’s good for me?” Draco closed his eyes and turned back toward Potter, who was running a hand over his arm, looking like a wounded animal. “I never have, really. I just go with the flow.” 

“You absolute idiot.” 

“Coming from you, that’s a compliment. Especially since I’m just a...what words did you use?” He paused for dramatic effect and the silence between them grated on Draco’s nerves. “Ah, I know. A filthy half-blood.” Draco grimaced. He’d long abandoned the views that had been forced upon him since he was old enough to speak, but Potter didn’t need to know that. “You didn’t answer my question.” Draco exhaled shortly, his patience wearing thin. Couldn’t Potter see that this was all for naught? 

“Even if you don’t know what’s good for you, you’re better off marrying the Weaslette and adding to their brood.” 

“Ginny and I broke up.” 

“Why do you think I care?” 

“You brought it up.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Stop trying to act like you did in school.” Potter took a step forward, toward Draco, and in response, Draco took a step back. The pain in his arm had become a dull ache, but the limb felt heavy and not at all like his arm usually did. Thankfully, it wasn’t his casting arm, so he would be able to defend himself if things with Potter turned violent. “I can see right through you.” 

* * *

Pansy Parkinson had grown accustomed to keeping her head down whenever she was out in wizarding society. Unfortunately, that didn’t preclude her from Tripping Jinxes cast by people who literally wanted to see her fall on her face. 

Like always, the cobblestones were coming up at an alarming rate, but a strong grip on her arm stopped her from bruising her palms again. 

“Whoa, there.” The first thing Pansy’s awareness caught onto was the scent of freshly mown grass, coupled by minty toothpaste and new parchment. Then it was the sight of freckles…so many freckles. Instinctively, she grabbed onto her helper’s bicep, unintentionally feeling corded muscle there. “All right, Parkinson?” Her mark seared in recognition of her mate, even as she let go of Ron’s arm to regain her balance and some semblance of dignity.

“Wea…Ron.” Pansy caught herself – calling people by their surname was impolite and childish, anyway. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Did…did someone cast a Tripping Jinx on you?”

“It’s fine. I’ve gotten used to it.” Pansy tried for nonchalance, shrugging her shoulders. 

“You shouldn’t have to…THE WAR IS OVER, PEOPLE!” he shouted into the crowd. “HOW ABOUT WE FUCKING ACT LIKE IT?!” 

Aside from provoking a few confused looks, Ron’s shout didn’t do anything except create a nugget of affection in the deepest part of Pansy’s heart. “Could I treat you to some ice cream at Fortescue’s?” he asked, his ears turning pink. “We could…uh. Talk about the soulmate thing?”

The nugget grew larger.

“I’d like that.”

* * *

“You can see right through me, can you?” Draco mocked Potter, still attempting to act like the prat he’d once been. It was like trying to cast an Unforgivable without meaning it – impossible.

“War changes people. I know you’re not the same ferret-faced bastard you were when we were at Hogwarts, and I’m not the same scrawny loser with a destiny he never wanted. I’d like to get to get to know the new you.”

“What makes you think I’ll let you?” _What makes you think I’ll let you get close enough to break my heart?_

____

____

“I’ve been told that I’m stubborn. I think this soulmate thing is a second chance. Give everyone a chance to write their own happy endings that don’t involve Voldemort.” Against his will, Draco flinched at the name, but Potter didn’t seem to notice.

“What do you say, Malfoy? What do you say we give this thing a chance?”

It was the way Potter bit his lip that did him in. He teetered back and forth and shoved his fingers into the pocket of his jeans. 

“Fine.”


	2. "Give this Blasted Soulmate Thing a Go"

“Let’s move in together.”

“ _What _?”__

“You heard me.”

“Yes, I heard you, but you’re insane if you think I’m consenting to move in with you. My flat is perfectly acceptable.”

“I have a spare room and I’m not there that much; I spend nine months out of the year at Hogwarts.”

Draco was loath to admit that his flat had started to feel lonely. Icarus could only provide so much company, as an owl, and Draco _had _agreed to try and give this blasted soulmate thing a go.__

____

____

“I have some conditions,” said Draco. In response, Harry grinned, all teeth and sparkling green eyes, and Draco’s heart tripped over itself. 

“Lay ‘em on me.”

* * *

Hermione Jean Granger was a planner by nature. She preferred organization to chaos any day of the week. Fred Gideon Weasley was the exact opposite – aside from the plans he and George’d had for their shop, he was chaotic and messy and not at all who Hermione had imagined she’d spend the rest of her life with. She stared at the hyena on her wrist, lost in thought.

“What’re you thinking about?” 

Startled, she flattened her palm over the hyena shape, only to realize it was George who had walked into the Burrow’s kitchen. Bright orange hair had grown over where his ear had once been, and at first glance, it didn't look like anything was amiss. 

“Fred,” she answered honestly. The hyena on her arm hummed in approval. “I’m still trying to wrap my mind about this whole soulmate thing.” The former of the twins was playing a pickup Quidditch match with Ginny and Ron. She hoped they would come in soon so they could have lunch and drink water – the sun could be wicked in August, and the Weasleys were all notoriously pale.

“It is a lot to come to terms with. I remember when Bill and Percy all got their marks. Charlie didn’t have one. Either his soulmate isn’t a witch/wizard or he’s asexual. Which honestly wouldn’t surprise me. He’s always been way more interested in dragons than dating.”

“Sometimes I think that would be easier,” Hermione admitted. “Being asexual, I mean.”

“Yeah, but then you’d miss out on all the fun.” George joked, and Hermione chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, though, I think you and Fred will work well together. He can help you not be so serious all the time and you can reign him in.”

“Who’s reigning who in?” Fred, Ron, and Ginny tumbled into the Burrow then, their brooms over their shoulders. 

“Nothing, nobody, Gred.” George secretly winked at Hermione, and she smiled back at him, grateful for his friendship.

* * *

“Think of it this way – you only have to put up with me for two weeks, and then you’re free of me until June.”

“These are going to be the longest two weeks of my life.” lamented Draco dramatically. Harry rolled his eyes. Icarus had been napping when Draco returned to his flat to retrieve him, so the bird was in a foul mood and kept biting at Draco’s ear.

“You’re bleeding,” said Harry, and Draco’s hand went to his ear. Crimson blood came back on his hand and he glared in annoyance at the bird. “I’m rubbish at Healing Charms, and you probably shouldn’t try to do them on yourself.”

“I’m not going to Mungo’s because my owl bit a chunk out of my ear!” protested Draco.

“I have Band-Aids. Muggle thing, basically they’re antiseptic pads with sticky bits on each end.”

“Will it prevent infection?”

“It’ll help.”

Draco sighed, casting another scowl at Icarus. The owl was thoroughly unperturbed. Harry led Draco to his bathroom, where the Band-Aids were in the cabinet. “Have a seat on the toilet.” Draco did so after closing the lid, and Harry fished through his cabinet for the Band-Aids. “Aha!” 

Draco watched with no small amount of trepidation as Potter prepared the odd Muggle object for his ear. Once it was ready, Potter leaned down and curled the band-aid around both sides of Draco’s ear.

His closeness was making Draco’s heart race and his pulse throb. Potter breathed hot, moist air into Draco’s ear and he forced himself not to shiver. He would not give in to Potter’s advances this soon, he hadn’t even unpacked yet! “Done.” he murmured. Draco opened his eyes – when had he closed them? – and stood up, leaving the bathroom in a hurry.

* * *

“You realize it’s a trap, right?” asked Pansy as she stirred her coffee. Now it was Draco who was calling the emergency meeting, and after the encounter in the bathroom, he felt like he’d run around the Quidditch pitch 10 times without stopping for air or water.

“Of course I realize that, but it’s not like I have much of a choice. This bloody thing –“ he shook his arm for emphasis. “- doesn’t abate unless I’m close to Potter.”

“That’ll be interesting when he leaves for Hogwarts.”

“I’ll be near his things. It’ll be fine.” Draco said tartly. Pansy delicately tapped her spoon against the side of her coffee mug, setting it on the table before leaning over to delicately take the first sip. “Your concern for my plight is touching, truly.” Pansy let out an impatient sigh.

“I’m sorry I can’t muster up the proper amount of pity for you, darling. From what Ron has told me about Harry, you should give him more of a chance.”

“Oh so he’s _Ron _now, is he?” Draco asked, and Pansy refused to back down.__

____

__

____

____

“Yes, he is, and if you call him by anything other than his given name in my presence I will chop your bollocks off, do you understand me?” 

Only four women had ever managed to intimidate Draco – his mother, his aunt Bellatrix, Pansy, and Hermione Granger. Not that he’d ever admit to the last one aloud.  
“Perfectly. What has _Ron _told you?”__

____

* * *

____

Harry stared at the peacock feather on his arm, still struggling to believe that, of all the people on the planet, wizarding or Muggle, the universe had decided that Draco bloody Malfoy was his soulmate. Then again, he’d never expected Hermione and Fred to be soulmates, or Ron and Pansy. Destiny had a way of surprising him in every way. 

He had to admit, though, that Draco hadn’t reacted as negatively as Harry had expected. Sure, he refused to use Harry’s given name and had called him a half-blood, but neither of those things were as impactful as they had been when they were hormonal teenagers on opposite sides of a war. 

Draco’s owl – Icarus – hooted from his perch on top of the bookshelf, and Harry’s gut twisted. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to buy another owl since Hedwig – it felt too much like he was trying to replace her. 

Icarus chose that moment to swoop down and land on Harry’s arm. He had no way of knowing for sure, but he presumed that the owl wished to inspect the dark-haired young man from a better angle. Tentatively, Harry brushed his knuckle over the downy feathers above Icarus’s beak. To his surprise, Icarus nuzzled his finger affectionately, soft hooting noises coming from him like purrs from a cat. 

At that moment, Draco disabled the wards around their flat and came in to see his owl fraternizing with the enemy. 

“He’s a foul attention-whore.” Draco informed Harry, and Harry laughed at the utterly insulted expression that the bird shot at his owner. “Oh, don’t give me that, you know you are." 

“Why did you name your owl Icarus? He disobeyed his father’s orders and flew too close to the sun…” As he spoke the words aloud, he realized the irony of his question. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “How…how is your dad? Your mum?” 

“Mother was exiled to France and Father is slowly descending into madness in Azkaban as far as I know,” replied Draco. “I haven’t seen him since the trials." 

“Really?” asked Harry, and Draco turned on his heel and walked down the hallway toward his bedroom. Their bedrooms were right next to each other, the shared bathroom splitting the corridor down the middle. 

Icarus made a displeased noise when Harry clambered upward to get to Draco before he warded himself into his room for the night. By some measure of luck, Harry curled his fingers around Draco’s elbow, stopping his momentum. 

“Did you need something?” Draco shook Harry off, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance. 

“I would have thought that you’d be visiting your dad every chance you got.” 

“You don’t know as much about me as you think." 

“I’d like to, though, if you’d let me. I meant what I said in the alley." 

“Please, Potter. Spare me. If it weren’t for this stupid soulmate thing, you’d never give me the time of day. Too busy with your fan club.” “That’s not true.” 

Draco hated the way his heart leaped when Potter stepped closer, his arm sending fireworks to the rest of his body. Potter’s body heat electrified Draco, and if Draco were braver, he’d lean into that heat and let it envelop him.

“Personal space, Potter.” Draco snapped, elbowing him in the gut and taking advantage of the distraction to escape to his bedroom, safely warded from intrusions. 

Harry groaned in frustration, even as Draco slid down against the door, holding his head in his hands, his arm burning once more. Harry went into his room and slammed the door behind him, spooking Icarus in the other room. 

* * *

The next day, Draco did everything he could to make sure he would be out of the flat before Potter woke up. He had to get to St. Mungo’s early anyway, Healer Hargrove was not keen on tardiness. 

Potter had given him permission to use his personal Floo, something that shouldn’t have made Draco feel so sentimental, but it did. He was almost ready to go when the door to Potter’s bedroom swung open.

Potter ambled out, yawning and wearing faded Chudley Cannons pajama pants without a shirt, his hair looking even more sex-rumpled than it usually did. Draco’s mouth damn near watered – he had no right to look so attractive. 

Dark hair had scattered over Potter’s golden chest and abdomen, collecting in a tantalizing nest where the lines of his pelvis narrowed. Unfortunately, the main attraction was covered by the aforementioned pajama pants, but Draco still had to pull his collar away from his neck, feeling feverish all of the sudden.

“G’ morning.” Potter greeted with a gravelly voice, and sweet Circe, Draco had to get out of there _now. ___

____

____

“Hello. Can’t stay and chat, unfortunately, have to get to Mungo’s.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re training to be a Healer.” Potter rubbed his eye, stretching in a way that made his trousers slide down ever so slightly. Desire pooled in Draco’s stomach, causing a headrush that was probably unsafe. “Are you all right?”

“Just fine,” Draco replied, his tone clipped. His wretched Pureblood upbringing demanded he say the next part. “Good day.”

* * *

Ron and Pansy had been on several dates now – three, if Pansy’s calculations were correct – and they hadn’t kissed once. They’d held hands and Ron had walked her to her apartment door like a perfect gentleman, but she was starting to get impatient.

She found herself staring at Ron’s lips as he talked about the Chudley Cannons – Pansy had never cared much for Quidditch, but she liked the way Ron’s entire face lit up when he talked about his favorite team, so she let him prattle on.

Pink and soft, slightly chapped but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a little carefully applied cosmetology magic…

“Vi?” Ron had slid his hand across the table to clasp their fingers together, his thumb brushing over her soulmate mark. He’d started calling her Vi ever since she told him the scientific name of the flower she was named for, Viola. “You checked out for a minute there.”

“Sorry. I – uh. I was just thinking…” Butterflies erupted in her stomach as he met her gaze, and there was so much earnestness in those baby blues that she could get lost in them. “We’ve been on a few dates now and we…we haven’t kissed.”

“Oh, that.”

Without another word, Ron leaned over the table and pressed his lips to Pansy’s. No-fuss, no bother, no mixed signals. No pressure, either, because after a few seconds, it was over and Ron had sat back down, an annoyingly Gryffindor-ish smirk on his face.

“Shut up,” Pansy told him, cursing her pale complexion as it made her blush obnoxiously obvious.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Ron asked after a few minutes, and Pansy nodded, letting him take her hand as the nugget of affection in her chest grew even larger.

Later, they sat on the wrought iron fire escape behind the animatronic redhead tipping its hat, the shade a nice relief from the August humidity. Ron was living with the twins in the flat over their shop and helped out when they needed him. The sun had just begun to set over Diagon when Ron produced a bucket of ice cubes. 

“If you don’t want to do this, it’s totally fine, but I saw it one of Hermione’s Muggle shows.” He carefully took one of the cubes out and explained, “When it’s hot out, boyfriends and girlfriends rub ice cubes over the other person’s back.”  
“Is that what we are? Boyfriend and girlfriend? How presumptuous of you.” Pansy teased, and Ron smiled in a way that turned Pansy’s knees to jelly. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Gently, Ron’s hand curled under her blouse, his calloused fingers dragging the ice cube deliciously down her back. Pansy hadn’t realized how hot she’d been and had to bite her lip to keep from groaning.

“Good?” Ron murmured, his voice raspier than it had been a few moments before. Pansy turned to him and pulled his head toward hers, kissing him instead of answering immediately.

“Perfect.”

* * *

Potter was seated at the kitchen table, petting Icarus once again when Draco came back. Thankfully, he’d put on a shirt, but he still looked deliciously rumpled.

“Hey. How was your day?”

Caught off guard, Draco blamed his racing heart on the trip through the Floo. 

“You…actually want to know how my day was?”

“Yeah. Unless you don’t want to tell me.” Icarus returned to his spot on the bookshelf and promptly put his head under his right wing to sleep. Only Draco’s owl slept during the night. “I realized after you left this morning that the reason you’re being so evasive is that you’ve convinced yourself that I’m only interested in you because of the soulmate thing. In reality, that was a convenient excuse.” he paused, and Draco did everything in his power not to squirm under Potter’s gaze. “Now, come on. Tell me about your day. I’ll make tea.”

Once Potter got him started, Draco’s words fell out of him like water off of a cliff. They talked well into the night about the people that Draco liked and didn’t like, what ward he would want to work in if he had a choice. Potter listened intently, and for the life of him, Draco couldn’t sense anything but genuine interest from the Boy Who Lived. His insides tingled and his arm buzzed. 

“I have a question,” Draco said once he’d stopped regaling Potter with stories of his future workplace. “Does your mark bother you, when you’re not around me?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s either too hot to touch, feels like my whole arm has fallen asleep, or so heavy that it may as well be made of stone.”

“It’s the same for me!” said Draco, glaring down at his arm for the millionth time. “They should have warned us about these wretched things when we were in school.”

“If someone had told you when you were 14 that you and I were soulmates, would you have believed them? Would you have even listened?”

“I would have hexed them.” Harry laughed, throwing his head back in the way he had when Luna had interviewed him. The temptation to lean forward and kiss, bite and suck nearly undid Draco. He took a long pull of his tea, hoping his budding erection wasn't obvious.

“That’s exactly the point. I like to think that things happen for a reason, and even if the reason isn’t always clear, it’s there and it’ll make sense at some point.”

“That’s…actually quite profound, Potter. Perhaps I underestimated you.”

“You should have learned your lesson about that by now.” Harry laughed once again, taking the last sip of his tea. They got to their feet – they’d been sitting on Potter’s couch as they talked. 

“Yes, I suppose I should have.” he paused, something like courage welling up inside him – “Well, good night, Potter.” The other man’s smile fell ever so slightly at the continued use of his surname, and Draco hated himself a little bit more.

“Good night, Draco,” he replied, and went to the kitchen to do the washing up, completely unaware of the way Draco swallowed hard and walked stiffly back to his room.

* * *

Returning to the Muggle world was always jarring to Hermione, but it also kept her from becoming complacent with magic. She was headed to the doctor that was almost universally hated by women everywhere: the gynecologist. 

Women’s healthcare in the magical world was practically nonexistent, and Hermione had some concerns that she needed to address. So, she’d cut through the Leaky Cauldron and was now back in semi-familiar territory.

In the last few months, roughly since her 21st birthday, if she were being honest with herself, she’d been noticing some issues with her reproductive system. Procrastination was not usually something she did, but in this case, she had definitely let more time pass than she should have. Her menstrual cycles were irregular and she occasionally skipped a month. Plus, she had begun to notice more acne on her chest and upper back, which only made her self-esteem issues worse. To top it all off, she’d been gaining weight, particularly in her thighs and waist. Granted, she wasn’t on the run anymore and had food whenever she wanted it thanks to Molly, but there was a difference between being well-fed and overweight.

She came to the bus stop and sat on the bench, checking her watch to make sure she hadn’t missed it. Another thing that never failed to surprise her was the way her watch would resume working immediately once she wasn’t surrounded by magic. It was for that reason that she kept it, even if it was useless half of the time.

After checking for the bus’s arrival, she took the novel she was currently reading, a Muggle book, out and flipped to where her bookmark protruded.

It felt like she had only read a page or two when the bus arrived, but she’d actually finished an entire chapter – this book was especially immersive in that way. (1)

She climbed onto the bus, paid her fare, and found a seat toward the middle near the window. It wasn’t long before she arrived at her destination, checked in with the front desk, and sat on the examination table, wearing nothing but a hospital gown that opened in the back.

A knock came at the door, and Hermione told the doctor that he could come in.

* * *


	3. "Oh, Sweet Merlin"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the lovely people who read this story when it first came out: I suggest you go back to chapter 1 and read the little changes I made to Harry's birthday party scene. 
> 
> It occurred to me post-publication that, after Voldemort's defeat, Harry probably would have felt as if his life had no meaning. His destiny was fulfilled, what was he supposed to do now? That, combined with PTSD and nightmares, caused him to turn to alcohol so he could be numb. That's why the tags say Former!Alcoholic Harry and Sober Harry.
> 
> For anyone just joining the party, feel free to disregard the above message!

August 24, 2001

Hermione returned to the Wizarding World in a daze. The results had not come back conclusively yet, but her gynecologist was reasonably convinced that she had polycystic ovarian syndrome or PCOS.

Not for the first time, Hermione wished she could ask her mother for advice. Once the war had ended, she and Ron had gone to Australia to try and restore their memories. To Hermione’s horror, it hadn’t worked. Memory Charms were notoriously difficult, and she’d spent the better part of two years trying to undo the damage she had wrought.

Tragically, as far as she was aware, Monica and Wendell Wilkins were living out the remainder of their lives blissfully unaware of their daughter. 

A little while later, she sat on the Burrow’s couch, her legs curled under her as she carefully blew on a cup of tea.

“A Sickle for your thoughts.”

“Only a Sickle? Come now, Fred, you should at least make it worth my while.” Hermione sounded confident, even flirty, but all she felt inside was chaos. She had no idea how she was going to tell Fred about the diagnosis or how she herself was going to cope with it.

“You stare out the window when you’re deep in thought,” replied Fred, sitting down next to her on the lumpy & faded couch in the Burrow’s living room. “I’d pay all the Galleons in the world to make you smile,” he added with his signature charming grin. Hermione’s arm tingled briefly, but she was too distraught to reply to him. “Hey. Talk to me.” She put the teacup down on the coffee table, turning to face Fred fully. 

“I have something I need to talk to you about.” Fred waited patiently for her to speak, and she nervously played with her fingers. “You know that I went back to the Muggle world for a doctor’s appointment,” Hermione began. Fred nodded his brows puckered as he took in the seriousness of her tone. “Well…I was tested for a condition called polycystic ovarian syndrome. According to the Muggle National Health Service, 1 in 5 women in the UK have the condition. We’ll know for sure once the tests come back, but I’m probably one of them.”

“Are you okay?” Hermione blinked – that was not what she’d expected him to say. “I’m sure you’d like to ask your mum about it, but you can’t, so…”

Hermione couldn’t help herself. 

She threw her arms around Fred’s neck and sobbed into his shoulder, her grief finally pouring out. He pulled her against him and ran his hands up and down her back, whispering encouragements into her ear. “We’ll figure it out, Hermione. Me and George have never met a challenge we couldn’t handle.”

“George and I,” she corrected gently, impulsively, and Fred rolled his eyes with a half-smile. Hermione leaned away from him and wiped at her eyes. He didn’t let her go too far away, interlocking their fingers together and laying them on his thigh. 

“I knew that. I just wanted to hear you correct me.” His arm flooded with heat as he brushed his knuckle down her cheek, pausing momentarily to wipe away the remnants of her tears. “My beautiful bookworm,” Hermione’s cheeks burned and she ducked her head away, unused to and unprepared for these sensations. She chose to focus on their clasped hands. “There’s something else going on in that brain of yours.”

“Well…I don’t know that much about the condition, but I do know that it can be difficult for women with PCOS to…to conceive children.” If possible her blush intensified and she rushed on. “Considering that you and I are soulmates, you have to have realized that we’re probably going to…to…” she couldn’t finish the thought – it was far too mortifying!

“So…you’re telling me that we may have to try over and over?” Fred asked, and Hermione finally looked up at him, only to realize his eyes were sparkling with mirth and interest in equal measure. “As I said earlier, we’ll figure it out.”

* * *

Harry stared down at his open Hogwarts trunk with a puzzled expression. He had gone through it several times and everything was there, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was forgetting something. It didn’t help that his arm was killing him – Draco had been out all day, and the sun had set hours ago. 

Aside from the discomfort, though, he was concerned for Draco’s safety. What if he’d been attacked? Ron had told him about what happened to Pansy in Diagon, and it was pretty clear that some people were not willing to let sleeping dogs lie. What he couldn’t figure out, though, was why would anyone be attacking former Death Eaters and their sympathizers? Wouldn’t it make more sense to attack Muggles or Muggle-borns and then blame it on the people who had once believed in Voldemort’s cause? Not that he wished harm on anyone, but, logistically speaking, it seemed nonsensical at best.

As if on cue, the Floo alerted him to someone’s arrival, and he darted toward his fireplace. Draco came tumbling through a few seconds later, and at first glance, he didn’t look injured. Tired, perhaps, but no obvious bruises or lacerations.

“Potter! I thought you’d be asleep by now!” Draco shouted, his words slurring slightly, and Harry winced at the unnecessary volume. Icarus let out a disgruntled hoot from his bookshelf perch. The stench of cigarette smoke and whiskey surrounded Draco like a disgusting cologne, and Harry wrinkled his nose. He recognized the scents from his immediate post-war days. 

Draco wasn’t in any danger, except maybe to himself. Harry sighed, relieved yet perturbed at the same time. Why had Draco gotten himself so inebriated? Had he had a bad day at work?

“Merlin, Draco, how much did you drink?”

“Lost count after five.” He swayed unsteadily as he attempted to count on his fingers, and Harry jolted forward instinctively to catch him. 

“All right, come on then. Let’s get you into bed.”

“I can do it myself!” Draco complained, but Harry ignored him, letting the other man lean most of his weight on Harry’s shoulder and side. 

With clinical efficiency, Harry used wandless magic to change Draco into his pajamas and put his Mungo’s Healer-in-Training uniform in the hamper to be washed. He ran a hand through his hair, the fatigue hitting him like one of Dudley’s punches. “Potter, wait,” Draco sounded like his sober self, so Harry turned back toward him. 

Once he did, he wished he hadn’t.

Draco looked _delectable_. Pale skin contrasted sharply with his grey pajamas, which of course brought out his storm-cloud colored eyes. Harry’s arm burned so suddenly he let out a noise of distress, and Draco cocked his head. “Stay with me. Please?” Harry closed his eyes, curling his hands into fists. 

“You don’t actually want this,” Harry said, more to himself than to Draco.

“You don’t get to tell me what I want…” The slurred speech had returned and Harry was grateful because knowing Draco was drunk but sounding sober was tearing his self-control to ribbons. “Harry.”

Oh, sweet Merlin. That shouldn’t be so arousing, but it was and he desperately wanted to discard his morals and fall into bed with the other man, but not like this. He’d had one too many hookups before he got sober, and he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t sleep with anyone unless they wanted him, not his fame. He took a step toward the door, one half of his body facing Draco, and the other half away from temptation. “Would you like me to tell you all of the ways I’ve fantasized about you fucking me senseless?” 

Arousal and magic swirled inside Harry like a heady and forbidden cocktail, but he forced himself to remember what his Mind Healer, Gretchen, had told him at their last session together. 

_You are stronger than you think. ___

____

____

Resolve marginally strengthened, Harry said, “No, Draco. I won’t take advantage of you. Good night.”

Defeating Voldemort had been a cakewalk compared to walking away from his (drunk and therefore unable to consent to anything) soulmate.

* * *

“I don’t believe it.” Ron stared at the chessboard, his mouth practically on the floor. Pansy smirked victoriously. 

“Checkmate,” she said unnecessarily, taking great pleasure in the way Ron couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he’d been beaten at wizard’s chess. 

Not just that, but that he’d been beaten by a _girl _.__

__“D’you want to play again?” she asked, and Ron’s mouth closed with a click. “You’re on,” he answered, and they began the game anew._ _

____

* * *

____

August 25, 2001

The next morning, Draco awoke with a start. The last thing he remembered was being invited out by his coworkers. After that, he could only recall colors. Had he been drugged? He remembered the Floo fire…Potter’s eyes…he inhaled sharply at the suddenly clear memory of Potter standing near the door to Draco’s bedroom, fists clenched and posture extremely tense, as if he was holding himself back from something.

_“No, Draco. I won’t take advantage of you. Good night.” ___

____

__

Draco covered his face with his pillow, wanting to simultaneously groan dramatically but also reluctant to wake Potter. He wasn’t ready for Potter to scold him – he didn’t think he’d ever be ready for that. Not because he didn’t deserve to be reprimanded for his irresponsible actions –but because Draco wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from jumping Harry’s bones if he went all ‘Professor Potter’ on Draco.

That particular wet dream had begun in their fifth year when Draco had joined that stupid Inquisitorial Squad in an attempt to kiss up to Umbridge. They’d busted Potter and company’s “Dumbledore’s Army” and, while Draco didn’t know the extent of the punishment that Umbridge inflicted on Potter, he knew it was painful. 

At the time, all he’d cared about was hurting Potter. His feelings, his body, his everything. 

Still, Draco couldn’t stop the fantasy of being seduced and fucked by his then-archnemesis, especially when the idea of ‘Professor Potter’ was introduced to his fantasies.

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry sat in his bedroom, the clacking of his laptop’s keyboard bouncing off the walls and absorbed by the carpet. His experience with Draco the night before had, if nothing else, inspired him to finally continue the story he’d been toying with.

When he got sober, Harry realized that writing was the best way for him to express his thoughts. Unfortunately, using parchment and a feather had gotten old quickly. He and Hermione had gone to the Muggle world and purchased him a laptop soon after that. He couldn’t use it at Hogwarts, obviously, but it made his breaks far easier.

Along with helping him emotionally, he found that he greatly enjoyed writing erotic fiction about men, specifically, bisexual men like himself. If the amount of relatable reading material for Muggles was bad, then the amount of material available to witches and wizards was completely dismal. 

Not that he planned to publish under his own name – he treasured the little privacy he had under his flat’s Fidelius Charm with Ron and Hermione as his Secret Keepers – but he still wanted to contribute to the world in a way that was only his and not influenced by destiny, prophecies, or death.

As he moved into the next page of his document, Draco’s bedroom door opened and Harry couldn’t stop himself from turning toward his own closed door. His arm vibrated and he narrowed his eyes at it. He preferred if Draco thought he was still asleep – that would be easier to explain than a Muggle device, or, Merlin forbid, what Harry was _writing_ on the device.

* * *

Draco relieved himself in the bathroom and stripped out of his pajamas, getting into the shower shortly after. Pressing his palms against the tiled wall, he let the hot water pound his back. He suddenly remembered his last conversation with Pansy.

_“I’m sorry I can’t muster up the proper amount of pity for you, darling. From what Ron has told me about Harry, you should give him more of a chance.” ___According to her, Harry’d had a rough go of it after the war. When the press wasn’t hounding him (which was rare), he struggled with his self-worth. Draco could relate to that. Upon realizing how bad his alcoholism had become, Harry had gotten sober and applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts. From what Pansy said, McGonagall didn’t care that he’d defeated the worst dark wizard their world had ever known, he had to prove himself worthy of a job at the school regardless. After the dismal performances of the DADA professors in the previous few years, Draco couldn’t fault her for that, even if it seemed a bit superfluous.

Obviously, Potter had gotten the job and he was clearly happy from what Draco could tell, and, of course, maddeningly attractive. (Though that hadn’t changed since Hogwarts, if anything, it’d gotten worse because he was no longer scrawny.) So why couldn’t Draco let his guard down in front of the other man unless he was drunk? They were soulmates for Circe’s sake! Shouldn’t this be _easy _?__

____

____

He let loose a groan and went about his shower routine, roughly shampooing his hair and lathering his body with his signature imported soap. Once he was clean, he got out of the shower and managed to get back to his room without incident.

* * *

August 27, 2001

“Malfoy! Oi! Malfoy!” Zacharias Smith, former Hufflepuff, fellow Healer trainee and a major pain in Draco’s arse, prodded Draco's bicep with his quill.

“What!” Draco snapped, careful to keep his voice low while Healer Hargrove lectured on about temperature regulation charms, something Draco had never struggled with but was still more interesting than Smith.

“You and Potter live together now, right?”

“Yes, and…?”

“What’d he do when you came back utterly pissed?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Smith-” Draco cut himself off, a thought occurring to him. “Wait a minute. How did you know I was so drunk?” Smith paled, and something like stone settled in Draco’s midsection. “So, I _was _drugged!”__

____

“Mr. Smith, Mr. Malfoy, if you would be so kind as to keep your conversations outside of my classroom, it would be much appreciated.” Healer Hargrove told them crisply. Smith turned a ruddy shade of red, and Draco nodded politely.

* * *

September 1, 2001

“So I’ll…see you for the winter hols, then?” Harry asked awkwardly. He and Draco stood at Platform 9 ¾, where Draco was seeing Harry off for the new school term. 

“I thought you said that you stayed at Hogwarts all year?” Draco replied, speaking to his feet rather than facing Harry directly. The uncomfortableness had stayed around like a summer storm, persistent yet not willing to abate completely.

“Well, that was before. Before I had…” _‘someone to come home too.’ _he grimaced and cut himself off, realizing it was an obnoxiously cheesy thing to say out loud, but the meaning was clear to both men. Draco promptly ignored the way his heart flipped. The train whistled shrilly, the conductor making his last call for passengers. “Well, see you, Malfoy.”__

____

__

After being called Draco for two weeks, he felt unbalanced by the sudden use of his surname, but he couldn’t exactly fault Potter for using it, could he? Harry climbed onto the train and Draco turned toward the exit once his soulmate’s messy hair disappeared into a compartment.

* * *

“So, how are things?” Pansy wrapped her perfect lips around a straw, her eyes inquisitively staring into Draco’s. They were back at Blaise and Theo’s Place, and Pansy looked happier than Draco could ever remember seeing her. Resentment filled his belly and he took a moody sip of his tea. “Ah. I see.” Pansy murmured. “Still haven’t gotten over the past?”

“Oh come off it – you literally tried to turn Harry over to the Dark Lord!” Draco knew it was a low blow and that Pansy hadn’t done anything to deserve it, but he was frustrated and lonely.

“At least I have the courage to say his name.” Pansy shot back coldly. “ _Voldemort. _” Draco involuntarily flinched, and Pansy smirked in bitter amusement. “Besides, I’ve apologized to him. He understands that it was a heat of the moment thing and that if the roles were reversed, he might have done the same.” Draco’s eyebrows shot up at that.__

__

__“When did this conversation take place?” he asked. Pansy let his curiosity sit, glancing around the room, and drinking her drink carefully. “Pansy…” she met his eyes across the table, and he could see the anger and hurt that made him feel like utter shite._ _

__

__“Don’t get testy with me.”_ _

__

__“I’m…I’m sorry, Pansy. I was out of line. Please answer my question?”_ _

__

__“You were out of line. Thank you for acknowledging that,” she replied primly. "Ron filled me in on more of the details, but originally, Potter and I went to the same Mind-Healer, Gretchen Travers. We bumped into each other one day and he offered to buy me a cup of coffee. Something about bygones being bygones.” she waved a dismissive hand and Draco shifted uncomfortably. “We went to a Muggle café called Starbucks.”_ _

__

__“I’ve heard of that I think. Green logo? Overpriced?” Pansy nodded, and Draco sighed. “Pans, what am I going to do?”_ _

__

__"Perhaps you could stop feeling sorry for yourself and let him in?” Draco’s head shot up, a defensive remark on his tongue, but Pansy spoke before he could. “I’m not saying you have to marry him, Draco, but for your own sake you should at least give him a _chance _.” She motioned to Theo for the check and the two parted ways.___ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Source used for Hermione's statistics quote: https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/polycystic-ovary-syndrome-pcos/#:~:text=In%20PCOS%2C%20these%20sacs%20are,do%20not%20have%20any%20symptoms.
> 
> Sorry for the delay in posting. My debut novel is being released in just over a month so I've been preoccupied with that and just life in general. Thanks for your patience and understanding!

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Do y’all have any guesses what book Hermione is reading? Let me know by commenting!
> 
> Resource used for Hermione's symptoms: https://www.womenshealth.gov/a-z-topics/polycystic-ovary-syndrome


End file.
